The Height of Love
by SevenServers
Summary: In which England plans an anniversary for America without telling the other anything about it, and his oversight is paid for in full. UKUS, includes slight PTSD, irrational fear of heights and awkward dates. What fun. Kink Meme De-Anon.


No one forgot about me, right? Right? Ah, well. I hope you'll enjoy this little thing.

Anyways, this de-anon is about America having a fear of heights and England having to help him with that. It's fluffy and pretty domestic, so I'd say it's pretty G-rated.

* * *

It was a slow day in England's office. His Prime Minister didn't have any appointments for him, the Queen was busy with something-or-another, and England had finished his paperwork for the day several hours ago. Unfortunately, he hadn't anticipated it being such a slow day, and he was perhaps a bit paranoid that the moment he stepped out of his office, a heaping pile of paperwork would await him the next day (stranger things had happened), so he didn't feel quite comfortable with leaving early.

So. That meant England was trapped in his office with nothing to do, save for read a book in his personal library. As he was looking for books, though, he remembered that nearly all of his fiction novels had been loaned out (America had muttered something about wanting to understand British-isms so he wouldn't automatically think England was insulting him; a futile pursuit, as, ninety percent of the time, England actually _was_insulting him), leaving only a few Shakespearean plays that he hadn't been in the mood for, and several grammar books.

England grabbed the first book he'd felt remotely interested in and sat down.

It turned out to be a book on extended metaphors—metaphors for things in life, like comparing emotionally distant people to the cold, and impulsive people to heat (or more accurately, fire), things of that nature.

He'd been reading a passage on free-spirited people being like the sky when it hit him.

_'Free spirited people have hesitation about anything that tries to hold them back. Sometimes they see work as trying to hold them back, as well, when they could be spending their time on more useful pursuits or enjoying their life. They can change their mind easily before any sort of pride sets in, but once they're set on something, they go after that, strong as a hurricane wind. Naturally, they're attracted to freedom, and will even physically fight to defend their freedoms. They may often-times be seen staring at the sky, or even going so far as to try to touch the sky—making them great pilots or astronauts. However, many people see glaring flaws in this sort of personality type (particularly emotionally distant or overly harsh personality types), particularly in their lack of a work ethic. They think that free-spirited people simply don't like to work, which isn't true—they simply don't like to work at things they don't enjoy, and if they have to do things they don't like, they'd prefer to do it on their own terms and in their own time-set, which is something that other people simply don't understand or don't appreciate. They make great friends and lovers, though, especially to opposing personality types, as they provide a perfect balance—_

England stopped reading, blinking dumbly at the page. They may as well have simply replaced 'free-spirited personality types' with 'America', and it would have made an equal amount of sense.

A sudden bout of inspiration hit him when he glanced at the calendar. Their anniversary was in just a few weeks, and he hadn't really planned for much, but after new-found inspiration and re-reading the passage a few times, England suddenly knew exactly what he wanted to give America for their anniversary.

After all, the London Eye would be absolutely perfect for someone who loved the sky and loves to be surrounded by it, right?

* * *

Two and a half weeks later found America in the London Airport, suit-case in hand and an obvious case victim of Jet-Lag. England spotted America before he could spot him and rushed over to him.

"Am—Alfred!" England called, stumbling over the human versus nation names a moment before he corrected him. He quieted once America was within a decent talking distance. "How was your flight, love?"

"Fan-frickin'-tastic," America muttered, rubbing at his eyes, but quickly put away any complaints and broke into a grin. "But I_ really _don't wanna talk about it now that I'm, y'know, here with _you_." He kissed the other's cheek, smiling all the while. "I missed you a ton. I think your side of the mattress misses you, too."

England broke into his customary 'not-in-_public_' blush, but couldn't quite suppress his smile all the way. "Git… Honestly, didn't I teach you better than to say things like that around others?" And even as he said it, he took America's hand and started to lead him back around to where his car was waiting, America gladly following, suitcase in-hand.

"Yup," America grinned again. "But I'm not lying about our Special Relationship, unlike sooooome people." At that, he slid his arm around the other's waist, suit-case now only being pulled with one hand (which was really rather remarkable, as he probably could have fit a small horse into that thing).

"I don't lie about it," England snapped, eyes flashing at even the implications of such a thing. "I simply don't go bragging about it. And I thought I told you, I don't not tell people because I don't love you, I just don't want people—"

"—To get the wrong idea, yeah, I know, heard that a million times," America grumbled, rubbing at his eyes again. "Still…" He quickly shook off what he was about to say, though, instead choosing to pull England a bit closer to him. "Nevermind. Just the Jet-Lag. I'm completely wiped…"

England just gave a soft smile before tightening his hold around America as well. "I can see that. How about I take you home and you can get some sleep, mn? And tomorrow we'll celebrate our anniversary. How does that sound?"

"Absolutely perfect," America said with a large yawn. By that time, they'd reached the parking lot, and both started to walk towards the waiting car. England popped the trunk over, and America threw his suit-case inside. He blinked dumbly at England a moment, though, when he saw which side England was getting in on. "Uhm… D'you really think I should drive?" he asked, furrowing his brows in confusion. "I'm kinda tired…"

England just rolled his eyes. "We're in _England_, America." (Fortunately there were no humans around them to overhear the slip-up.) "I'm getting in on the driver's side, remember?"

America yawned again, blinking slower all the while. However, he seemed to remember rather quickly and simply nodded, silently getting in on the left-hand side. He promptly collapsed into the seat, wasting no time in getting comfortable when he heard the engine start.

Before he could sleep, though, England leaned closer to him and captured his lips in a slow, sweet, close-mouthed kiss, smiling into it. When the broke apart, he pressed one more kiss to the other's forehead and said "Love you," in a hushed tone.

"Love you too…" America mumbled, already closing his eyes again. He fell asleep a few seconds later.

America was startled awake by the sudden halt to the engine, and was numbly aware that fingers were threading through his hair that definitely hadn't been there at the start of the trip. He groggily looked up at the other nation, breaking into a smile at having caught England in such an act, as he almost always denied doing such 'Hollywood-esque attempts at romance' (as if it was a bad thing or something).

"G'morning," America yawned, smiling a bit wider at the other's sudden blush.

"You…! Why didn't you tell me you were awake?" England snapped, immediately withdrawing his hand and looking pointedly out the window.

"'Cause I only just now woke up." America blinked, lazily bringing his head up to look around at the scenery. "Hm. Did'ja do anything with your garden since last time? 'Cause I think it looks a little different…"

"I didn't do anything different, no," England said, frowning a bit. "Perhaps you're just unused to seeing it when it's not completely drenched."

"Mm. Yeah, it was raining pretty bad for almost the whole time I was here last time, wasn't it?" America asked, still sleepy but finally starting to wake up.

"I dare say you should remember more of it than just that," England muttered. "You apparently thought it quite smart to try to walk to and from the store in such weather and ended up sick for the rest of your vacation." And neither of them had a very good time, as England was hardly as patient with the current America as he had been when America was a colony (and had actually behaved). "Now come along inside, or it _will_start raining again, and we may have a repeat of last time."

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you," America groaned, sitting up slowly. It took him a moment to find his glasses—as finding glasses was rather difficult when he was probably half-blind, and England refused to help—but finally Texas was back atop its perch and the world was much less blurry.

His luggage was unloaded without much of a fuss (as it was rather obvious that England couldn't take it himself, since a family of five could have easily fit all of their clothes and their family pet in America's monster of a suitcase) and brought into the house before the clouds could roll in.

Almost immediately, though, America brought his things upstairs to the Master Bedroom (as after who-really-knew-how-many-years-they'd-been-dating, they were far past having something as unnecessary as Guest Rooms for eachother) and promptly crashed onto the bed.

"Still tired, mn?" England said, leaning against the doorframe.

"Just don't. Jet Lag is the absolute _worst_," America groaned, but a lazy smile was in place, and he couldn't find it in his heart to sound too upset.

"While I won't deny that," England said as he somewhat hesitantly approached the bed, "I must say that I wouldn't mind actually spending time with you, conscious or no."

"Y'know, in the wrong context, that could sound really bad." America laughed lightly, but stood up nonetheless, apparently noticing that not only was he not under the covers, but he wasn't in anything even resembling pajamas. "And… I wouldn't want you to get sick of me on the first day…"

"America, love, I've nearly only seen you asleep since you've been here, so I'd hardly say I'm tired of the conscious you, and… Well," England said, somewhat patronizingly. "What did we learn last year about being unnecessarily insecure?"

"To not to," America muttered, rolling his eyes as he started to dig through his (giant) suitcase for some pajamas. "Yeah, I've heard that one before."

"And the time you wouldn't come out of your room for weeks after misinterpreting a conversation between me and Japan?" England raised an eyebrow as he saw America pull a baseball bat of all things out of his suitcase. "And almost five years ago, when you were absolutely certain that I liked Canada more than you just because of a poll my people took? Or all those times you were resentful because of actions my nation took, when really it had almost nothing to do with _you or me_? Or the time you refused to do anything other than paperwork for nearly a week because you thought I'd called you lazy, and were determined to prove me wrong? Or how about when you—"

"I get it!" America snapped, half-heartedly chucking a pair of socks at the other's head. "I'm a total whiner about stuff and need to stop overreacting. Happy?" He rubbed at his eyes again, cursing lightly at his sudden headache that nearly always came when he shouted while he was tired.

England sighed, mentally slapping himself for trying to provoke the other when America really just needed sleep (even if he really hadn't been paying all that much attention to what he was saying, and in what context it would naturally be received). He crossed over to where America was still kneeling by his suitcase. "…Sorry, love. I forgot how—" _easily provoked you are when you're tired_"—tired you are after travelling for so long. Want to call it a day?"

"Yes, please," America mumbled, and before either could say another word, he picked up his night-clothes and toothbrush and disappeared into the bathroom.

While America was getting ready, England couldn't help but hope that the next day would be better, as they weren't having a very good start to their x-year-anniversary. However, he wasn't given much time to think—and hope and pray—about it, as then it was his turn to brush his teeth and all, and then they were both curled up in bed.

However, as always, it wasn't really 'night-time' until one had situated themself against the other, and as America was obviously exhausted, England took his turn as 'protector' and eased his arms around America's middle. As the other nation didn't flinch, England could only hope that everything was going to be all right and that the next day really would be better.

He, naturally, couldn't have been more wrong.

* * *

America, having slept in the car, was naturally the first to wake in the morning. However, being America, he was still quite sleepy after waking up and therefore spent the better part of an hour selfishly enjoying the feel of England's arms around him.

However, after a while, America felt the other's arms start slowly retreating, and he made a rather clumsy attempt at holding onto them.

Unfortunately, it woke England, and America internally groaned, since England was hardly one to stay in bed after he woke—evident, as moments after, there was movement behind America, and the superpower was slightly disappointed to know that the movement was movement _away_from him. America rolled over so that he could catch a glimpse of England's face.

"Oh, you're up, then," England said with a soft smile. "I'm assuming you slept well?"

America made a less-than-coherent grunt in response, before shuffling over to get a grip around England's middle, making a half-hearted attempt to drag him back to bed. "Stay…"

"Afraid I can't, love," England reprimanded him, easily prying America's arms off of him. "We've a lot to get done today, or don't you remember?" He glanced towards the calendar. "It's our anniversary today. You really think we're not going to celebrate?"

"I can think of a couple'a ways to celebrate, and not one of them involve leaving this bed," America deadpanned, reclaiming his hold on England, who, again, easily pried his arms off. Upon noticing England's disapproving look, America corrected himself. "What? I only meant sleeping in…"

"Of course you did, git." England rolled his eyes. "Now I think it's high time that you get up. We're going to celebrate _properly_. As in, a day _out_."

"But I wanna stay _in_," America protested. "Y'know, watch a stupidly sappy movie, stay under the covers where it's nice and warm… Read somethin', maybe…" He shrugged, perhaps a bit helplessly, when England didn't look remotely interested. "Aren't you the one that's always tellin' me to appreciate quieter things? And to live at a slower pace?"

"Yes," England agreed, "But not on our anniversary. Now get up, you lazy sod." Unfortunately for America, those words were accompanied by a sharp tug which sent the superpower to the floor, where he rested in a slightly undignified position, staring up at England with an annoyed glare.

"You're so mean…" America groaned, tugging on the covers as if he intended to go right back to sleep on the floor. "And it's cold… And it's like only three A.M. at my place…"

"I think you're getting time zones mixed up, love," England said, somewhat amused. "If it's nine in England, that would make it three in the _afternoon_at your house."

"Stop confusing me," America griped. "And leave me beeeee…"

England sighed, then crouched low so he could have a better view of America. "I'd leave you alone if I didn't think you'd stay there for the better part of the week."

America cracked a grin at that, and propped his chin up on his hand. "And when have I ever done something like that?" he teased, putting on his best puppy-dog-pout.

"Every winter?" England suggested. America snickered, but England did not, and quickly took advantage of America's defenseless position to yank him into something resembling a standing position.

"Hey!" America protested, nearly tripping over the blankets around him. "Be careful! You almost gave me a heart attack! Not cool!"

"Ah, I don't think I'll be the one to blame if you have a heart attack," England said with a smirk, poking the other's stomach (relatively flat, despite his eating habits). Before America could squirm away—as the comment was very much unappreciated, if the annual fits were any indication—England held him closer and pressed a chaste kiss to America's cheek. "Better?"

"Hmph," America grunted. However, it was clear that he couldn't hold a grudge, because a few seconds later found them locked in a proper morning kiss, though close-mouthed, as neither were fans of morning breath.

* * *

A few minutes later, both were dressed and mostly ready. There was no debate about whether or not they'd cook breakfast themselves—as the kitchen was declared off limits to both whenever they visited eachother—however, there was a rather short argument about where they _would_be eating.

"I think we should—"

"We aren't eating our anniversary breakfast at a McDonalds," England cut in, before America could even finish his statement.

It was quite clear the way America pouted that it really was going to be his suggestion. "Well, fine. Where do _you_want to eat?"

"There's a lovely little tea-shoppe not far from here," England said with an all-too-casual voice, presumably to hide his excitement. He was doing his best not to rock on his heels as it was. "I daresay you'd enjoy it, as well."

"Eh, I guess," America shrugged, and slipped into his bomber jacket. England made a murmur of agreement, and America turned to look at England with a curious expression. "Somethin' tells me you have some stuff planned for today…"

"Hm?" England faked cluelessness. "I don't know what you mean, love. What could I have possibly planned when I'm in my own city with the man I love on our anniversary?"

"Cute," America said with a laugh. "Guess I'll just have to wait, huh?"

"I don't know what you mean." England winked, pressing his index finger to his lips before grabbing America's hand and leading him to the door.

* * *

"So?" England asked, oddly conversational as he leaned forward with a smile. "Do you like it?"

"It's…" America started, unwilling to hurt the other's feelings. It was, after all, British food, and he'd been hard-wired in the last two centuries to dislike it. That, of course, made it rather hard to eat with any sort of 'impressed face', but he did his best. "It's pretty good, yeah!"

"So you really like it?" England confirmed, smiling all the wider. "Great! I guess that means we'll be eating here more often, then!" He placed his hand on the table, a silent invitation for America to hold it, which he did without a second thought.

"Y-Yeah, that's great," America managed to bite out. Fortunately, England was paying more attention to America's face than his tone, so he was safe from hurting the other's feelings.

"You've got something on your face," England teased, sitting forward with a smirk. "Shall I get it for you?"

"I—" America hesitated, glancing around the restaurant. Fortunately, as they hadn't been arguing, they were drawing quite a bit less attention to themselves than normal, but there were still a few people staring at them. "Er… I… Sure?"

England was understandably put-out by the response. He sat back into his seat with a rather exasperated expression. "Honestly… it's no fun if you don't participate…"

"I—uh, that's usually your job, and I didn't want to impose on the whole 'embarrassed title' thing, so…" America muttered, his excuse falling flat.

"Hm."

America started to sweat. Things weren't going as plan, and if he didn't act soon… He frowned at what would await him at the end of the day if things continued to go awry.

With a determined stare, he stood up, and before England could protest, crossed over to the other, grabbed him by the shirt, and kissed England firmly on the lips. When they broke apart, America grinned. "It's not about not wanting to participate, hon."

England matched his smile. "You've still got something on your face, you know." However, before America could really figure out the statement, a napkin was pressed to his cheek, wiping off the crumbs with ease. "Better."

America flushed pink. "That's… You didn't have to do that," he muttered, sitting back down in his chair with what was most certainly _not_a pout. He kept himself from making any comments about England 'mom'-ing him, as he'd learned from experience that it wasn't a great idea.

"I'm allowed to fuss," England said with a grin. "Now, if we're finished?" He glanced over to a nearby waiter, who immediately came and offered them the bill, which was paid evenly by the nations, and a rather generous tip was left, courtesy of America.

* * *

England was glad, for the fiftieth time that day, that the weather was nice. There was just something about visiting a garden in the rain that put a damper on any day's event.

Still, as much as England had strived to make the date enjoyable, America didn't seem to be having as good of a time as he'd like.

"Would you like to look for an ice cream stand?" England finally asked.

Evidently he'd pulled America out of a daze, as the other nation stared blankly at him for a few moments before he answered. "Oh! Uh, yeah, that'd be good."

"Yes, well, we should probably finish up here, then," England said with a cough. "After all, we're not allowed back in after we leave."

"Well that sucks," America said with a frown, though he didn't look nearly as upset as England felt he should have been, at the prospect of cancelling one of the day's events. "But, uh, how much more do you want to show me? I'll stay as long as you want."

England mentally translated the other's words to 'I'd leave right now if I had the chance, but I'll suffer through more of this if you want to stay'. He visibly deflated. "It's fine to leave whenever. You're probably hungry, aren't you?"

"This is your day, too," America reminded him with a completely unnecessary poke to the cheek. "Enjoy it a little more, yeah?"

England wanted to shout out an 'I'll enjoy it when you at least act like you do, too', but as it wouldn't help matters, he wisely stayed calm. "Well. I suppose we can compromise a bit. We'll stay for another few minutes and see if there's anything new, and if nothing stands out, we'll leave, mn?"

"Sounds good," America agreed easily, holding out a hand with an almost-practiced obnoxious charm (if such a thing could exist).

They walked around for a few minutes, and although England would have normally been beside himself with joy at seeing such a beautiful place, he was far less enthusiastic as he could easily see that America's smiles were more for England than himself. Still, he wouldn't lose heart—even though very little of the day was going according to plan, they still enjoyed being around eachother, didn't they?

The notion cheered England, and he didn't protest when America finally 'let slip' that he was hungry and that he wouldn't mind to do something else for a bit. They walked out of the garden with their joined hands being the only obvious sign that they were, in fact, in love with eachother.

After a quick lunch and America's promised ice cream (England refraining from purchasing any for himself, as he really couldn't stand it most days), the two headed through the city, stopping where they wanted and never straying for too long from the main streets (save for a few heated kisses in an abandoned alley-way).

It wasn't England's favorite thing in the world, but America looked as excited as ever when he got to stop in a proper English telephone booth.  
"I'm calling Canada!" he announced with a grin, his usual silliness returning with a vengeance. He dialed the number before anyone could stop him.

"Oh? And what do you plan on telling him?" England asked, raising an eyebrow. He knew the phone was still ringing and took full advantage of it. "That you've been prancing all around London? Or that on our anniversary, I'm 'withholding' the best event of the day?"

America looked up, eyes wide with hope. "I knew you had more planned! When are we gonna go do it? What is it? Where?" he asked, and when England didn't immediately answer his questions—as quickly as they came, at least—he dragged the other nation into the telephone booth with him. "Seriously! You can't just say something like that and then not tell me!"

England chuckled, slipping out of the other's grip with practiced ease, then pushing himself as far away from the other nation as the booth would allow. "Ah-ah-ah… No spoiling the surprise. In fact, I'll have to ask you to put a blindfold on later this evening, so you don't see where we're going too soon."

"You're so mean, doing something that underhanded!" America all-but-wailed at his partner. "Can't you just give me a hint? Even just a little one?"

"No, because then you'll ask for more hints until I give it away completely," England said firmly. When his partner didn't immediately stop looking curious, he stood up straighter and pulled the other into a kiss. America gave up quickly enough after that, and seemed a little disoriented for just a moment.

It was then that they both realized that the phone had been on the whole time, evident by Canada's voice on the other end. _…"Um, why did you call this number? Is this America?"_

England rolled his eyes and hung the phone up, giving America his best 'you meant to do that, didn't you?' look. "You're going to give your brother mental scarring one of these days," he teased, grabbing the other by the collar of his shirt again.

America grinned, thinking that he was being pulled in for another kiss, but yelped in surprise when he was instead pulled rather forcefully out of the booth and back into the street. England smirked at him, but America just gave him a bewildered look. "What was that for?"

"Just to keep you on your toes, love. And to make sure that _you_didn't try to start anything in there," England said with a softer smile (though no less mischievous), leaning forward to give him a proper kiss. "Now, shall we?"

"We shall." America laughed. "And, uh, where exactly 'shall' we be going?"

"Ah, just to a lovely little bookstore-slash-movie-rental-slash-antique-store…" England said innocently. "And it might happen to be holding an early release of a movie you've been dying to see for, say, the past five or ten years… Maybe twenty, even…"

"What movie?" America begged, eyes wide. Mentally, he tried to piece the clues together, but evidently he'd never been a good detective for a reason, and couldn't figure it out past that it was probably based off of a British movie.

England smiled rather smugly. "Think about the only Lord of the Rings book that hasn't come out on film yet."

"The Hobbit?!" America exclaimed, blinking rapidly. "Seriously?!"

"Yes, yes, I'd hardly get _that_excited over it." England chuckled. "We can watch it tonight after we're finished looking around and once we've had our fun with the main event."

"You're not giving anything away, are you?" America said with a frown. He cheered rather quickly, though. "Y'know what? Fine. It'll be an awesome night just to watch the Hobbit. I don't think anything could go wrong enough to make this day less than amazing!"

"That's the spirit, love," England said with an almost patronizing pat to America's head (though England was the shorter of the two, though by less than an inch). "Now, shall we get going? The movie will wait for us, but the store will be open 'till six. Would you like to look around?"

"For you? Anything." America grinned and wasted no time in taking the other nation's hand.

* * *

They almost immediately took the movie (England all the while basking in the glory of nation-privileges), but took a bit longer in the store itself. It was a rather neat little shop, a strange blend of books, movies and historical artifacts. The timelines of the three ranged anywhere from the earliest made to the most recent, with every variety in-between.

Still, they had to make their dinner reservations, and England had planned on taking America to the London Eye before they ate, so he hurried the other nation out of the shop without much of a warning (nearly making America drop the priceless historical artifact he'd been manhandling).

"What? Where are we going? It's only five-thirty, you said dinner wasn't until almost seven—" America started to protest, but he quickly saw that England had taken out a wide piece of cloth. "Time for the 'special event', huh?"

"Yes, love. I'll keep your hand the whole time, so don't worry about the blindfold much," England reassured him, before smirking and continuing, "Though I can't promise that you're complete incapable of accidentally wandering into traffic—"

"Dude!" America protested, eyes widening in momentary fear. When he saw that England was laughing, though, he crossed his arms with what was most certainly _not_a pout. "Not funny. Don't joke about stuff like that. Last time I got hit by a car, the guy almost had a heart attack when he saw that I was completely fine but that his car was totally wrecked!"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure that was extremely traumatizing to you, America," England said sarcastically. "Terrifying, to know that you'd frightened someone by not dying when you were 'supposed to'." He paused, then took a step forward to try to tie the blindfold. "Bend down, will you? I can't tie it tightly enough from here."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," America grumbled. "Doesn't make it funny." Still, he leaned down so obviously he wasn't too upset about it all.

"I disagree. I found it to be quite hilarious. The look on your face…" England chuckled. He tied the blindfold tight enough so he could be sure that his partner was one-hundred-percent blinded. "Ah, well. That should be good and tight, then. Can you see at all?"

"No," America grumbled. "I totally wanna know where you're taking me, though. Where?"

"You'll see when we get inside," England waved the question aside, taking hold of the other's hand and leading him perhaps a bit too quickly through the streets.

It was nice, England mused, to have America tripping over himself to keep up. For once, at least. He wouldn't dream of making the situation permanent, but there was something rather sweet about America having to trust him completely and still agreeing to trust, even as he tripped rather often over stones that England neglected to tell him about.

Still, it couldn't be expected to last for too long.

"Are we there yet?" America groaned after narrowly missing a brick wall. "I'm tired of falling flat on my face, here. You sure you aren't, like, trying to make me trip so much?"

"As if I'd do something like that," England teased, turning around so that he could yank his partner towards him and propel him into a kiss. "I'm far too kind for something like that."

"Right," America said, probably rolling his eyes (though his eyes were hidden, England knew his expressions quite well and knew that when his mouth was set in that angle, he was nearly always rolling his eyes). "Sure you are. I'm starting to think that there's some serious abuse goin' on here, pal."

"As if you can even feel it," England said with a laugh. "And I haven't dropped you yet, thanks very much, so I'd appreciate it if you'd stop whining. Besides, we're here."

"We are?" America asked, previous emotion being quickly replaced with excitement. "Dude! Can I take off my blindfold now?!"

"Soon," England assured him. "Soon, I promise."

That said, he led America through the line of people (and fortunately they'd made reservations, else America would have no doubt heard that they'd been near the London Eye from all of the tourists gathered 'round, ruining the surprise). It wasn't long at all before they'd been ushered inside a compartment. It was only when the compartment started to move that England clapped his hands together and told America to take the blindfold off.

"I—where are—why are we moving?" America asked, eyebrows furrowed in obvious confusion.

"I realized a few weeks ago that I'd forgotten to take you here," England said with a smile. "And, well, since the London Eye was the world's tallest Ferris Wheel until China and Singapore just _had_to outdo me a few years ago… Well, I figured it was high time that I got to give you a proper view of London. You can see for miles from this high up, especially with the weather so nice." Upon realizing that America had fallen suspiciously quiet, England couldn't help but ask, "Do you… like it?"

"I—Yeah, it's great, no problem, uh, I just…" he gulped, suddenly very fixated on the floor beneath his feet. "Um. Yeah, it's really cool."

"Really." England couldn't help but feel a bit hurt at his partner's obvious lack of appreciation. "Then why aren't you looking at me? Why aren't you looking at my city, either?" When he got absolutely no response, he huffed and turned away, deciding that if America wouldn't look at him, he'd return the favor, no problem.

The compartment moved slowly and silently for a few minutes. It was only after a rather strangled whimper escaped America that England looked up again.

"What's your problem—?" England started to ask, but he was suddenly aware of how tense America had gotten, evidence being his unnaturally straight spine, white knuckles and even a few beads of sweat on his forehead. "America? What's wrong?"

"I—…" America broke his sentence off abruptly after a single syllable had been uttered. He anxiously glanced away from England, but unfortunately there weren't many other places to look but outside, and paled considerably when he saw how high they'd gotten. Within seconds, he'd dropped to the ground and clutched desperately to his knees, trying to breathe but nearly hyperventilating for his efforts. "…I… I'm…"

When it became abundantly clear that America didn't have enough control of his voice to say what he'd been wanting to say, England couldn't help but try to intervene. "America, love. Deep breaths." When the other nearly started to hyperventilate, he corrected himself. "Deep, _slow_breaths. That's it…"

"Sorry, just, I… I can't…" America made a few rather desperate attempts at gulping in more air, as if it would make his head clearer. "Ican'tdoheights," he rushed out in the same breath.

"You're afraid of heights?" England asked after he'd mentally translated the rushed speech into something coherent. "What on earth…"

"I get really, really freaked out when I'm too high up," America explained, slower, but by no means with less embarrassment. His face had heated up to a rather bright shade of red, and he still looked mere seconds away from having another panic attack.

"But you've been a pilot nearly since planes were invented!" England shouted, confused and perhaps a bit upset. "You can't just pick and choose what types of heights you're afraid of!"

"I know!" America cried, eyes filling up with tears. "I know, okay? But planes I can control, I can adjust things myself and if I fall, it's my fault and it'll only hurt me 'cause I'll make sure to crash somewhere deserted. But if anyone else is controlling the plane or if it's a roller coaster, I just can't do it." He sniffled rather uselessly, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "I can't."

England considered him a moment, still trying to figure out how, exactly, he hadn't known this after years and years of being America's friend, ally and romantic partner, but he sighed upon realizing that there were more important things to do than try to figure out the 'why' of things. He sighed and crouched down next to the still-crying nation, gently worming his hand into the other nation's.

"You're… not angry with me?" America asked, staring at England with wide, surprised eyes.

"Why would I be angry with you?" England furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "You should be angry with me, for not knowing you were afraid of heights and dragging you up here without telling you where we were going."

"Yeah, but I… I completely ruined today, and-and not just with this," he gestured uselessly to the compartment, then to himself, "But… But with everything before, too," America mumbled. He pulled his knees closer to his chest in an effort to make himself smaller (though he'd never been very good with that, as America was many things, but 'small' wasn't one of them; he seemed to alternate between large and muscular and large and McDonald's-friendly). "You were so excited about today and I was terrible, always saying the wrong thing or doing something wrong and I wanted to make you h-happy—"

America nearly pulled away out of surprise, but found that even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't quite break the kiss that England had suddenly pulled him into.

"Don't say something like that again," England warned, voice thick with a mix of protectiveness and even a hint of anger. "Do you hear me? You didn't do anything wrong. You acted as yourself, and it's _you_ I fell in love with, and I'd be highly offended if I found that I'd fallen for someone who didn't even act himself around me but claimed to love me. I love you _exactly_as you are, and I don't care how many times I have to say it, but I'll get that drilled into your head eventually."

"I—W-What?" America stuttered, nearly falling onto his back when England's rather forceful support suddenly vanished when the kiss had broken and England had started to lecture him. He clutched wildly for the other's shirt, if nothing else but for something to hold onto. "Don't… don't let go… I don't understand…"

England's face softened, and he leaned forward again, taking America's hand once more. "It doesn't matter to me if you're afraid of heights, horror movies or anything else in the world. I'd appreciate it if you'd _tell me_, though, so I don't put you into a situation that you won't be comfortable with. Because, as I'm sure I don't tell you often enough," England said, voice dropping to little more than a whisper, "I rather like it when you're happy, and will do everything in my power to keep your smile in its rightful place."

"You… mean that?" America asked, the tears in his eyes stopped by the statement alone, though England's gentle way of drying the wet spots on his cheeks worked for the wetness that had already been under his eyes.

"I'm not a liar, am I?" England asked, sounding almost amused. "Now, stay put for just a moment. I've a feeling that you'll like this trip much, much better with its help."

America wanted to protest, to stay that he just wanted England to stay by his side, more than anything else, because he was scared out of his mind, but within seconds the other nation had returned, the blindfold from earlier in-hand.

"We're going to use this to keep you from seeing how high up we are," England said briskly, in the way that said that there weren't going to be any arguments against what he said. "And to keep you from trying to figure it out on your own, I'm going to… distract you, I suppose would be the right word."

"What?" America asked, blinking in confusion. "You don't have to—"

"Please, if I didn't want to, I wouldn't. Besides, it's not like we're going to get particularly far. How long do you think we get the compartment for, anyways?" England asked, smiling rather smugly. "Now, if you please?"

America hesitantly allowed himself to be blindfolded, knuckles going white at the sudden thought that, if something went wrong, he wouldn't be able to take it off in time to protect the other nation.

"You need to calm yourself," England said quietly, voice right next to the other's ear. "You don't want another panic attack, do you?"

"I—I can feel it, England, I'm still too high up," America insisted.

"We'll get back onto the ground eventually. This Ferris Wheel has been around for quite a while, America," England said firmly, never once letting go of America's hand. "Nothing bad is going to happen. Now will you trust me?"

America bit his lip in nervousness but nodded nonetheless. "Yeah. Alright, sure."

Not a second after he'd said that, warm lips crashed against his own.

America felt himself being slowly, gently pushed onto his back, with England's hands pressing firmly on his waist. It made him squirm, ever so slightly, because nothing seemed to help him as far as insecurity about his appearance went, but he relaxed when he didn't feel England pull away, out of disgust or any other feeling.

"You really are lovely," England whispered, only breaking the kiss long enough to take a deeper breath and say it. "So don't be afraid, please."

"I'm… 'm not," America said quietly, hardly convinced of his own 'bravery' but England seemed to appreciate it, even if America couldn't see his expression.

"Then trust me," England murmured against the other's lips, not giving him a chance to say anything before he deepened the kiss, running his tongue along the tips of America's teeth but going no further.

They stayed like that for several minutes, scarcely moving any parts of their bodies but their lips and their hands, but finally, as if fate itself hated them, England made one wrong move. His eyes had closed sometime during their date, and he'd managed to forget that the American's blindfold was the reason they were doing any of it.

He tried to run his hands through the other nation's hair, and almost immediately, the blindfold came off.

It was sheer bad luck that they'd been at the very highest point of the ride at that exact moment.

England, as his eyes still hadn't opened, wondered for quite some time why America had gone so still. It took the other nation's strangled whimper for him to understand that something had gone wrong.

"What is it?" England asked, abruptly breaking away to look his partner in the eye. "What's—"

It was only then that he realized why it was so important that he could look America in the eye. The other nation didn't give him much time to think, though, and before even a few seconds had passed, America flung himself forward into a too-tight hug.

"Don't let go," America mumbled into England's shirt. "Just don't let go, please."

"You're not going to fall," the Brit said with a concerned frown, but did as the nation asked. He wrapped his arms around him, with one hand holding securely to the back of America's head. "It'll be over soon. Just try not to open your eyes."

America did as he was told.

Several minutes passed, and though both were rather disappointed about the general lack of contact, it was wordlessly agreed that any sort of 'mood' had effectively been killed. It seemed as if America needed comfort more than distraction anyways, and England was determined to be whatever he needed him to be.

After what felt like an eternity, the Ferris Wheel came to a halt. America and England both startled, but after a moment of tense silence, it seemed like America had had more than enough of the 'experience' and stood, a bit too quickly. England helped him to stand, as America's legs were still shaking slightly.

They stepped out of the compartment together and as quickly as they could, walked back to the streets they'd been travelling before then.  
Finally, they were out of earshot of humans.

"Do you want to go home, America?" England asked softly, not letting go of the other's hand.

"I—I don't want to ruin this date anymore, so we should probably catch those dinner reservations, right?" Still, guilty-nervous way America averted his eyes was proof enough that he was nowhere near ready to go anywhere else that day.

England sighed, pressing a feather-light kiss to the American's temple. "It's not a problem, love; honestly. We can order some takeout and watch that movie you were so excited about earlier." When the other was about to protest, England gave him a warning glance and continued. "Besides, this day is supposed to be for both of us. If you aren't having a good time then I won't either. I can promise you that much."

"But you had this planned for weeks, England," America said urgently, staring at the other's eyes with intense focus.

"They weren't very good plans if I didn't even bother to ask you if you were all right being so high up. It seems rather obvious, now that I think about it," the Brit said guiltily. "I never even stopped to wonder why you'd never taken me on a roller coaster or to the top of the Empire State Building or to that funny little needle-looking-thing in Seattle…" he paused, considering something. "Is this why you're always so ill-tempered after a flight that you didn't pilot yourself?"

America shifted slightly, so that it'd be less obvious that he was avoiding England's gaze. "…Maybe?"

England sighed, half wondering why he allowed such childish behavior. He was quiet for a while, trying to figure out what to say. Finally, he couldn't help it; "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's just being a little scared of being high up, 's all," America mumbled. "I'm an idiot for getting so worked up about it. Feel free to drop the subject whenever you feel like it."

"I'll talk about something else only when this is resolved," England assured him, holding tighter to the other nation's hand. "Now, the truth. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You'd think it was stupid," America said after a long while, evidently tired of downplaying it. "And then you'd want to know why, and I can't tell you why because it's… it's really awful."

"Try me."

England's gaze was determined, and America was running out of reasons why not to tell him. Finally, he gave in.

"Fine." The American took a deep breath. "It started near the end of World War Two. The planes weren't great back then, but they were good enough to transport a couple of people at the same time. I'd just gotten off of my shift at the wheel, and someone else was flying. They were doing good for a while, but apparently something went wrong. I don't know if they were drunk or tired or just new to flying, but…" he paused again, forcing himself to stay calm. "But it wasn't long before the plane started going down. I couldn't make it to the cockpit in time, because the plane was spinning too much. And then, before I could do anything to help, we crashed. And… well, obviously I was the only survivor."

England considered him for a long while, before finally relenting. He pulled the other nation close and wrapped his arms around America's neck, pressing a soft kiss onto the other's lips. "That really is awful," he said quietly after they broke apart. "But why on earth would you think I'd make fun of you for that?"

"Because you've lived through way worse and it doesn't affect you like that!" America finally said, red-faced in a mix of embarrassment and irritation. "And… why would you waste your time with someone that can't let stuff like that go?"

Almost immediately, England yanked him forwards by his necktie and stared—practically glared—at his partner. "No. Don't you dare think something like that. I may as well go up to you and start thinking that, because you're younger, you deserve to be with someone more powerful who can give you something in return. How would that make you feel, if I really thought that?"

"This isn't like that, though!" America protested, meeting the other nation's stare with just as forceful of an expression, though there was hurt right below the surface. "It—it isn't. Just, you've been through a lot, and I haven't. And if you're right from all of those fights, and I really am too immature to handle normal 'nation' stuff, then why are you supposed to stay with me, if you just have to babysit me and lecture me all the time?"

"That's preposterous." England waved his hand, as if dismissing the very notion. "You're reading too much into those arguments. If you honestly think I mean everything I say when I'm angry, then you clearly don't know me very well. Besides…" he paused, expression softening, "Don't think for a moment that grieving over those pilots' deaths isn't 'mature'. It would be immature if you didn't learn from the experience. When you survive something like that, you're supposed to be more cautious around whatever it was that killed the others."

"Yeah, but…"

"I won't hear a word of it," England said with a reassuring smile. "And besides, what you said earlier, about things like that not affecting me…" he paused, smile fading for just a moment. "Well, have you ever wondered why I gave up pirating, or never agree to go to the ocean with you?"

America stared at him, eyes wide. "What happened?"

"Replace your plane with a ship, the bad piloting with a fierce storm and your pilots with my sailors, and you've got yourself a near identical tale," England said quietly, trying and failing to sound nonchalant about it all. "I never learned to swim because, as you've heard, I'm sure, swimming only prolonged death, so no one would teach me. And afterwards, I'm afraid I never quite wanted to go into deep water again, so the skill was useless." He paused. "Does that answer your question?"

"Yeah," America said, nodding faintly. He was quiet for a while. "And… thanks."

"For what?" England asked, amused. "For being afraid of something, too?"

"No!" the American protested feverently. "Not that, not at all. But… just, thanks for being cool about all this. And, y'know, not… leaving me."

England furrowed his brows, momentarily confused by what he'd just heard. "Leaving you…?"

"Just, I know I'm not the best person you could have chosen. I'm… well, I know I get on your nerves sometimes and I'm not crazy-ripped like some other nations out there, and… And I know I don't act my age or intelligence, and I'm a coward with a bunch of things but… Thanks for choosing me." America bowed his head ever-so-slightly. "And thanks for not leaving me."

England sighed, gently tilting the other nation's chin upwards. "Love, I thought we'd talked about this. All the years we've been together, haven't I told you that I'm not going to leave you, no matter how childish you act sometimes?" When America flinched, he hurriedly corrected himself. "And really, as much as I lecture you, all of your childishness and immaturity stems from the same place as your naivety and kindness and… and generosity. It's your innocence, love. I don't say it often enough, but I'm more than willing to take on the good with the bad, because you more than make up for it with everything else. I just wish you'd see that."

America blinked up at him, pleasantly surprised at such a speech. His cheeks reddened and try as he might, he couldn't help a few happy tears. "You mean that, right?"

"I hardly make a habit of saying things just to please others, as you well know," England scoffed, wiping the other nation's tears away before they had a chance to roll down past the corners of his mouth. "Now, shall we get home? I've a feeling that you're in need of some well-deserved relaxation."

"Never thought I'd hear that from _you_," America said with a light laugh, wiping his nose with the bottom corner of his sleeve. England shuddered in momentary disgust for the nation's complete lack of manners, but didn't resist for more than a few seconds when America offered his arm.

* * *

They hailed a taxi a few minutes later to get home faster, and it wasn't long at all before the pair walked through the front door of England's house.

"D'you wanna put the movie in while we wait for the takeout?" America asked almost immediately, already walking towards the phone.

"I'd answer if I thought my opinion would make any difference," England said with a chuckle. "Go ahead, we may as well."

"You're the best, seriously." America grinned, dialing the oh-so-familiar number onto the phone. Even if they lived in different places, they got together often enough to know certain numbers by heart, as it was, again, pretty much a given that neither of them were to even step foot into the kitchen while living under the same roof. "Yeah, hello?" he asked after the man on the other end picked up. "I'll have…"

England tuned him out as he set up the DVD player and TV. It wasn't fair to say that he didn't know much about technology without America, but it was quite true that there were just some things that one learned when their partner was one of the most technologically advanced countries in the world.

Five minutes later, the food was ordered and the movie starting the trailers, and the two nations were hand-in-hand on the couch, curled up under a blanket.

Right before the movie started, America couldn't help but whisper, "You know something?"

England resisted the urge to say 'I know many things, actually; what do you want to learn?' but managed to keep his cynicism to himself for just a moment. "What's on your mind?"

"If every day was like this, I really wouldn't mind," America murmured. Without another word, he shifted to where his head lay on England's shoulder, and their legs were entangled.

"I wouldn't mind it much either, love," England agreed. He smiled, running his hand through the other's hair. "I wouldn't mind it at all…"


End file.
